


Mistakes for souvenirs

by Runespoor



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/M, Identity Issues, Identity Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-28
Updated: 2011-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runespoor/pseuds/Runespoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You haven't changed a bit. (Stephanie Brown/Alvin Draper)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes for souvenirs

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in handwave time, around early _Red Robin_ , pre- _Batgirl_. Title from No Doubt's Ex-Girlfriend.

“Hey, Steph.”

She looks up at him, squinting for a few seconds, then her eyes widen in recognition.

“Alvin! I can't believe it!”

He nods, but can't quite cover the grimace. “Yeah, it's been a while.” He didn't have much hopes of her remembering him better than that, but yeah, he'd hoped. A man has his ego, y'know?

“I almost didn't recognize you, you haven't changed a bit!”

The grimace is much more obvious this time. “Grew up,” he points out. He's pretty sure he's taller than her now, he thinks as he tries to judge her height as she's sitting. He's not sure, but he does take in the amazing curves of her boobs and her thighs when he studies her, so it's not a complete loss.

“A bit,” Stephanie says. “I'm the one that changed, then?”

Her smile's the same; a bit wistful, a bit biting, and too much like what Alvin's seen of her mom. The smile of a girl stuck in her front porch in the dusty heat of August with nothing to do but watching the passers-by as she sucks on a popsicle.

Nah. She didn't change. She always was that girl.

Too good for him, and maybe that's why he didn't stick around. Or maybe he was just scared, 'cause of the baby. Or maybe he realized she didn't need him and that's why he fucked off. Truth is, Alvin had a billion bad reasons to stop seeing her.

“You're thinner,” he says, putting his hand on his belly. God's honest? She's got better tits now than she did when she was preggo last time, but he knows better than to tell a girl that. 'Specially Steph. Sure, she never punched _him_ , but he's heard stuff about guys who tried to walk all over her since then. Good for her; not so good for him.

This time, she's the one grimacing. Yeah. It sucks like that. He's a little bit sorry, but hey, he knows Steph. He was there. She doesn't have to keep it secret from him.

“Ugh, don't remind me. I was inflated like a whale on two legs.”

He snorts, and sits down next to her on the steps. “So you're not plannin' on having another soonish?”

“No way. Next time, I'm not having a baby till I'm prepared. Like not before I'm done with school.”

She says it like it's nothing, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye, a bit surprised. Steph didn't love school when he knew her, and that was-- he tries to count the years and gives up. School was a while ago, for him too. He'd thought by now she'd have dropped out for sure.

“Yeah? What kinda school?”

She draws the ice-cream out of her mouth to answer him. “Starting college in September. Gotham U.”

Alvin whistles, impressed. “Damn, Steph.”

She laughs, brittle. “Yeah, who'd have guessed, right? I'm a goddamn statistic for bad family situations, and here I am! Going to college!”

He leans back on his hands, munching on his lip. Hesitates a second, because Steph may be a statistic with a crook for a father, but she's always been on the straight and narrow – straighter and narrower than most clean-cut kids Alvin deals with day in day out.

A lot of it's got to do with her dad. Man, that guy was a piece of work. Costume, to start with, and that should be enough for anyone, but in case it wasn't: Arthur Brown was a fucking shitty father. And Alvin knows from shitty fathers. Point is, she's angry at him.

“I'd've helped, you know. If I'd known you wanted? I could've made a little money to get you there.”

She doesn't even look at him. “Don't make me smack you.”

Mostly he thinks she stuck to the legal because Steph's stubborn like nobody's business.

He doesn't insist. They got on because Alvin didn't rub his activities in her face and she let it slide. He didn't do anything too bad – back in the olden days he was mostly just a runner, nothing too terrible, just... it made their life easier.

Maybe that's how it started for her parents, too, and then it went downhill from there. That's scary; Alvin's made a promise to himself he's never putting on a costume. That just never looks like it helps.

“Wanted to make sure you knew, that's all. Nothin' to it.”

Her head rolls on her shoulder when she turns to look at him. Her eyes are crinkled in a smile, the stick of the ice pop between her teeth. “That's really nice, Al.”

He shrugs. “I just think if you got the chance to get out, you should take it. Not like I'm doin' much with my money anyway.”

Her nose scrunches. He seriously should know better than to speak about that with Steph, especially if she's getting into college, straight and narrow and more clean-cut that either of them would have bet she'd be, the first time they were together.

“You here for business, Alvin?”

He shakes his head. Steph's tone is vaguely menacing. “Nope.”

“Then zip it about business, okay?”

“Got it.”

They stay in silence for a while. Steph's drawing circles in the dust with her sneaker, and Alvin... Alvin's pretty much looking at her and wondering if he's got the guts to put his arm around her shoulders. On the one hand: she looks like she could use a friend. And Alvin's interested. On the other hand: Steph's history of beating the crap out of guys who disappear to amble back into her life like nothing had happened.

“So,” Steph finally asks. “What'd you do, all this time?” She's wrapped her arms around her knees, like a kid.

“Can't talk about it. You'll smack me.”

Between locks of her hair, he can see her smile, here then gone in a flash. “Ah. Business.”

“Little bit of this, little bit of that,” he agrees, tries to play it like it wasn't all illegal. It was, but she doesn't need to know that, right?

“I can guess,” she says, and she makes to stand up. Alvin's instantly on the watch-out: if she shoves him off her porch, he'd rather not end head in the dust and his ass up in the air. She sounds more wry than anything else, but you never know. “I'm gonna get another ice-cream. You want one?”

“Sure,” he says, and he stands up as well and follows her inside the house. Steph doesn't give him the tour, but on the short way to the kitchen, Alvin's struck by how different from last time he came in where Steph lived this is. It's better. Not that it's tidier, but it's a bit cleaner. The paint's fresh new, and there are recent posters framed on the walls. It looks like a house that's seen repairs not long ago. But not the expensive ones; without a comment, Steph pushes a large plastic bowl out of the way with her foot to open the freezer's door.

She hands him a mint popsicle, and bites into hers. Alvin can't hide his wince, and she grins at him. And waggles her eyebrows.

“No way,” he protests. “I was just thinking about teeth and cold, that's all!”

“That why you were staring at my boobs?”

Alvin raises his hands in a chill-out gesture of defense, which isn't that easy when you've got a dripping ice pop in one hand. “Okay, you got me, I'm sorry, but come on, you look amazing.”

“Sorry you got caught or sorry you looked?” she inquires, licking her ice cream.

Tongue.

Alvin swallows. “Sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“Ooooh, _good_ answer, Alvin Draper,” she says, appreciative. “You gonna hit on me some more in my mother's house?”

Alvin does not need the warning signal going on in his head to know the correct answer to _that_ one.

“I have nothing but respect for the lady,” he assures. That comes out a bit wobblier than he'd like, given Steph's _oh really_ look. “Scout's honor.”

She snorts. “Okay, let's go for a walk someplace else.”

In the suburbs in the middle of August, the streets are almost deserted, except for the distant shouts of children and the splashing in inflatable swimming pools. One or two cars cross them by, and Alvin notes their numbers out of habit, before discarding them, furious at himself. It's not right, using Steph as an excuse to check over her neighborhood for empty houses or nice cars.

They walk a couple blocks, and she makes no move to grab his hand, so he starts to wonder. Maybe he read her wrong.

When they reach a playground under construction, she pushes him against the solid fence, metal clanging against his back, grabs him by the collar, and shoves her tongue into his mouth. Alvin-- well, maybe he didn't expect it, but he's never going to complain when a cute girl decides to French him. Especially Steph. So he skips the gaping and rolls with it.

It's funny how a few years change things; he's taller than her now, not by much, but enough that the angles of the kiss is completely different from how it used to be. Tangles of her hair brush against his cheek from beneath, and her grip on his sweater is pulling him _down_.

The kiss, though, the kiss is just like Alvin remembered. Better. Truth is, Steph is a making-out champ. She's not afraid to use her tongue and she makes these low growls from the back of her throat...

She's kissing him like she's angry, and back then it was that she was angry at the world; now it's like she's angry at _him_ , and that's-- really fucking hot.

She nips at his lips, teeth sliding with the slickness. He feels her pushing against him, his hands on her hips, warm and round, and when she moves he lets his hands skim down her back, down that awesome butt of hers, all big and round and frankly amazing. He used to jerk off thinking of it so much when he was fourteen, and jesus fuck, he hopes she's not going to be offended by the stiffy, but she wasn't a prude then and Alvin hopes to god she's not one now, because it's getting that he's starting to get invested in this more than a simple make-out session.

She shoves a thigh between his legs, and when she grinds they both make a noise.

When she pulls on his T-shirt and slides haphazardly a hand under his shirt, raking up his belly – Alvin's kind of glad for all the exercise, she makes that sound like she likes what she's touching – he takes that for permission to go further. Like finally letting himself notice that her breasts have been pressed against him for the past two minutes. Alvin loves the kind of dilemma where he's torn between getting his hands, and then possibly his mouth, on Steph's tits, or continue groping her orgasm-worthy butt.

Tits win out, because she's rocking on him like she wants to climb him, and it's like he can feel them rolling on him, and it's gonna drive him crazy if he doesn't get his hands on them right this second. Doesn't even bother with unhooking the bra, just pushes it up and out of the way, and his dick _pulsates_ when he puts his hands on the soft, soft skin, fingers grazing the nipples.

Zipper, and for a second there's nothing pressing on his hard-on, and then there's Steph's fingers – Alvin feels his eyes roll out in his head and his head bangs, loud, against the metal, and yes, that was a whimper. God, he hopes the neighbors aren't there.

She starts to take off her jeans, and Alvin on the verge of breaking into prayers of thanks, when she stops abruptly. Aw.

“You got a condom? Cause we're not if you don't.”

Alvin totally does. Because he's an optimistic, enterprising, always-prepared lad, and he always forgets to take the spares out.

He grins when he pulls it out from his back pocket. Steph doesn't even let him open the packet, she tears it open and rolls it down his cock, like she can't even wait. It's the hottest thing Alvin's seen or been a part of since fuck knows when. Whatever he did to deserve this, he needs to do it again, he thinks as he pivots them so her back is against the wall. Soon. Every day. Anything so long as Steph--

Her jeans are off, and she wraps a leg around him, like she was on the cheerleading squad and she's used to gymnastics – and goddamn he's gotta stop picturing her in a cheerleading uniform else he's gonna blow his load way too early.

Then she braces against the wall, arching, and then she's sliding down on his cock. And. There are two trains of thought fracturing Alvin's mind, he's so stunned that she just _pulled it off_ like that, hop, and he's inside her.

She feels so good around him, and she's keening, and they're _outside against a wall anyone could see them_ , and maybe he wasn't off-tracks about her being a gymnast or a cheerleader.

“Wait,” she says, and she puts her hands on his shoulders, braces, and then she's suddenly heavier and her other leg is around him holy shit. She smiles at him, flushed. “There. Better this way.”

And while it's flattering that she has that much faith in his strength – that's a very motivating thought right there – Alvin's not as certain as she seems to be. There's nothing holding her up, except him and the wall. Not even a washbasin or something. On the other hand, it also feels more solid than before, and not like something could slip off. He just needs to put his hands under her ass. Yeah, you can imagine what a hardship that is.

He gives a small thrust, testing, and she moans. All her muscles work around him, her thighs flexing on his hips, her cunt squeezing him like it's going for fastest orgasm prompter. He's gotta balance the scales. His fingers stutter a little when they reach for her clit, but the dilation in her pupils and the gaspy breath are very gratifying.

Even better when he's fucking into her for real.

It takes very little time before they're both coming, rutting urgently and groaning.

Then they move too quick before they've had the time to get their breath back, because the curtains of the house facing them move and Steph doesn't want her neighbors to see her bare-ass naked and fucking strange boys in the open.

As they stroll back to her home, Steph sends a glance at him.

“Try not to preen so much,” she says dryly.

Alvin immediately turns the grin down a notch. “Sorry,” he says. He hadn't realized he was grinning.

“Sorry we fucked or sorry you're gloating like a peacock?”

“Is that a trick question? Cause I'm pretty sure I'm gloating 'cause we fucked.” Let's hope that's a good answer, because his brain's fuzzy on happy enough that he thinks he might trip himself up without noticing.

Her smile back probably means it was a good answer. It stays with him until they reach her house.

“I guess you're the nicest guy I ever dated, Alvin,” she says when they say good-bye.

That stays with him longer.


End file.
